


Heatstroke

by banii



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Challenge fic, Fluff, M/M, Post-Episode: s03e13 The Wrath of the Lamb
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-30
Updated: 2016-01-30
Packaged: 2018-05-17 05:48:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 609
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5856517
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/banii/pseuds/banii
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Shielding his eyes from the sun with one of his hands, Will gazes up at the bright blue of the sky.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Heatstroke

**Author's Note:**

  * For [piginapoketuesday](https://archiveofourown.org/users/piginapoketuesday/gifts).



> Done as a challenge fic for curveofherthroat on tumblr.
> 
> "Write a Hannigram fic between 100-1500 words with a specific color palette (2-3 colors that go together)."
> 
> I chose blue, yellow, and green.

Shielding his eyes from the sun with one of his hands, Will gazes up at the bright blue of the sky. It’s a beautiful day, and he'd forgotten how much he had missed the heat. Having spent his childhood and a large portion of his early adulthood in Louisiana means he’s more accustomed to the heat than anything, and mostly prefers it. The chill of the East coast had soaked into his skin over the many years he’d lived there, and now he feels like he’s sitting in front of a warm fire after being out in the snow all day. _Argentina is a gift_ , he thinks.

Vanilla bounds around the backyard, chasing bugs and the occasional bird. The yellow of her coat gleams in the sun, making her look like she's made of gold, and it jars Will a little bit. He whistles to call her over and she comes, tongue lolling out of her mouth. Will smiles down at her and scratches behind her ears, the sleek feel of her fur under his hands grounding him.

“Will?” he hears from behind him, and turns. Hannibal is standing in the patio doorway, eyebrow raised. “It’s lunchtime. Are you coming in?”

Will pads over to him, the green grass feeling like a lush carpet against his bare feet. “Why not eat out here? It’s a nice day,” he answers with a smile as he wraps his arms around Hannibal’s waist, leaning up slightly for a kiss.

Hannibal’s lips brush his in a chaste little thing, and he sighs against Will’s mouth. Unlike Will, Hannibal is not particularly fond of the heat. Hannibal doesn't appear to be particularly fond of any extreme temperatures, but he certainly does not like the heat. Will expects him to argue that indoors is just as lovely, with the added benefit of air conditioning, but he seems to think better of it.

He presses another kiss to Will’s lips, and reluctantly extricates himself from the embrace. Even after three years, Hannibal can't seem to get enough of Will’s touch, and Will takes as much advantage of that as possible.

“Alright,” Hannibal says, acquiescing. “Help me with the food?”

Will nods, and follows Hannibal into the kitchen. He picks up the plates, laden with cuts of meat and cheeses, and Hannibal takes bowls of what looks like creamy onion soup. They take the food back out to the patio and put the dishes down on the table.

Vanilla trots over from where she was laying in the sun, sniffing around the table, smelling the food. Will chuckles softly and offers her a piece of meat off his plate, always one to spoil her. She takes it eagerly, licking at his fingers, hoping for more.

Will sits in one of the heavy, wrought iron patio chairs and takes a small square of blue cheese, popping it into his mouth. He takes note of the plants in the middle of the table.

“What are those?” he asks, gesturing toward the green plants in their tall, clear vase. No barriers. He can see all of them, even the angled cut at the base of their stems that makes it easier for them to soak up the water they’re set in. They're not the prettiest centrepiece, but they do have a certain charm about them, the many cupped leaves reminding Will strangely of tentacles.

Hannibal follows Will’s gesture, looking at the flowers. “Bells of Ireland,” he responds. “They mean ‘good luck’.”

Will takes a piece of meat and bites it in half. “Can never have too much good luck,” he says with a grin.

Hannibal smiles back. “My thoughts exactly.”


End file.
